


In the den of the Wolves

by alittlelark



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angry Lambert (The Witcher), Assassin Jaskier | Dandelion, Beta Read, Blood and Injury, Bratty Jaskier | Dandelion, Brothers In Crime, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Guns, He is a little shit, Hitman Jaskier, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Injured Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Being a Feral Bastard, Jaskier | Dandelion Being a Little Shit, Jaskier | Dandelion is Called Julian, M/M, Mob Boss Geralt, Mob Boss Vesemir, Non-Graphic Violence, Older Siblings Eskel and Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Past Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Pre-Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Swearing, They are all criminals, Vesemir is So Done (The Witcher), basic lambert, i don't want to die like calanthe, isn't he always, like basic jaskier, mention of drugs and human trafficking, someone really deserved to die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:08:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29068557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittlelark/pseuds/alittlelark
Summary: “What is this?” Vesemir asked after he took a quick glance at their hostage.“Trouble” Eskel answered, sharply.Lambert bared his teeth.“We found this little shit at the club.  He killed two of your boys and injured another two before we could even lay a finger on him. He fucking bit me” he said harshly, shaking the boy slightly “And the bastard keeps smiling like it’s fucking Disneyland and I’m Mickey fucking Mouse”Vesemir opened his mouth to answer, his face becoming increasingly concerned and angry with every word Lambert said, but the boy was quicker.“I was looking forward to meet you”--After some troubles at the club, Lambert and Eskel bring someone back with them. But maybe the lark they caught out of the nest is not lost at all.
Relationships: Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 14
Kudos: 187





	In the den of the Wolves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CamilleDuDemon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleDuDemon/gifts).



> ah the things we do for -a job?  
> Thanks to my lovely girlfriend who beta read this stuff. I love you <3

Geralt did not see it coming.

He was in Vesemir office, the man sitting in the broad chair behind his desk where some maps and documents were deployed. He was quickly but efficiently talking, informing him about the job that was next to be done, his finger brushing lightly against the paper whenever he needed to point something out.

Geralt was paying attention, of course, because he would never dare not to.

Nonetheless, he found the situation kind of relaxing: he was used to the presence of his boss, and although he found him quite frightening when he was angry, he knew that he wasn’t the kind of man who got mad for nothing.

Every time he had seen Vesemir pissed off, he had a very good reason to be.

Besides, Vesemir was not only his boss: he was also sort of a father figure to him.  
Actually, he _was_ his father: he had adopted him when he was just a child, providing for everything he needed and raising him up like he was his own.

Suddenly, they heard some bustle coming from downstairs, followed by some shouts.  
Vesemir raised an eyebrow, looking at the clock: it was almost 1 am.

Geralt was wondering who was making so much noise and what was happening. Immediately, his hand went to his side, fingers brushing lightly against the grip of the gun, training taking over instinct. Although, the movement seemed so natural to him he felt like it was.

“Do you want me to go and take a look?” he asked, noticing Vesemir’s hand tensed, also ready to take his revolver out. But before his boss could answer the voices quickly approached, words becoming increasingly distinguishable as they got closer.

“Stop trying, you’re not going anywhere-” someone – Eskel, Geralt could recognize him anywhere– said, immediately echoed by Lambert’s always _so gentle_ mouth.“You little shit, I’ll beat you up so hard I’ll turn your fucking face into a goddamn Picasso” he promised.

Geralt watched Vesemir frown. He was confused and tense as well, even if he was good at hiding it. So, he was not expecting visitors.

Geralt looked back at the entrance just in time to hear someone banging on the wooden surface strongly enough to make the massive door slightly shake.

Lambert, of course: no one else knocked the same way as he did.

“Come on in” Vesemir sighed “before you break my door. Lambert, how many times do I have to tell you that you don’t need to punch it to make me hear you?”

Lambert just made an acknowledging noise in response.

Vesemir straightened his back imposingly on the chair when the door opened, fingers entwining in front of him.

“So. What’s the fuss all about?” he asked, looking at the strange trio entering his office: Lambert was holding a young boy in front of him, pushing him roughly across the room.

His hands were tied behind his back, his arms stretched in a position that looked painful at the very least .

His chemise was soaked, the stark red of the fresh blood looking even more vivid compared to the whiteness and delicacy of the semi-transparent fabric – calling that shirt _obscene_ would not even get close to the reality since it was basically made of thin air – but Geralt wasn’t ready to swear it was all his own.  
Sure, the boy was injured, because his left shoulder clearly had a date with a bullet, and he was a bit pale, but he didn’t look like he was going to pass out anytime soon.

Geralt didn’t waste too much time on him, though, his eyes immediately drifting to his brothers, looking for possible injuries.

Much to his relief, the only wrong things he was able to find on Lambert were a slight bruise on his face and what looked like a bite on his forearm. He was furious, it was easy to tell: his face was as red as his hair, his fingers pressed violently in the boy’s arms to keep him still, so hard his knuckles had gone white.

Behind them, Eskel was closing the small parade, holding a gun in front of him, pointing it to the boy’s head.  
He looked fine, too, so Geralt decided to divert his gaze back to the stranger.

Surprisingly enough, he was staring directly at him.

The boy seemed young, probably in his early twenties. His face was delicate, fine features framing a proportionate nose and a pair of blue eyes with long lashes. Apart from the chemise, he was wearing a pair of dark skinny jeans – perfectly tight on his long legs – and black ankle boots. He would have looked average if it wasn’t for the blown pupils and the feral smile he was wearing like a lipstick on his lips.

“What is this?” Vesemir asked after he took a quick glance at their hostage.

“Trouble” Eskel answered, sharply.

Lambert bared his teeth.

“We found this little shit at the club. He killed two of your boys and injured another two before we could even lay a finger on him. He fucking bit me” he said harshly, shaking the boy slightly “And the bastard keeps smiling like it’s fucking Disneyland and I’m Mickey fucking Mouse”

Vesemir opened his mouth to answer, his face becoming increasingly concerned and angry with every word Lambert said, but the boy was quicker.

“I was looking forward to meet you” he said, his voice soft but also filled with juvenile excitement.

“Well, unfortunately I can’t say it’s a pleasure, boy” Vesemir said sharply. He was not angry, not yet, but his voice indicated he was starting to lose his composure.

“I wasn’t talking with you, old man” the young boy didn’t even bother to look at their boss “I was talking with _you_ ” he said, his chin lightly lifting to point towards Geralt’s direction “The White Wolf”.

He said those words as if he was savouring them. Geralt raised an eyebrow, surprised by his outcome.  
“So you made all this mess to meet me?” he asked, titling his head to the side, trying to ignore the way he was looking at him.

He looked…famished. The boy, incredibly, laughed.

“Yes” he said, his blue eyes sparkling “and no. Let’s say I really wanted to meet you, but this isn’t the main reason why I messed up with your…staff”

Lambert jerked him violently, making him groan in pain. A punishment for his amusement.

“Easy, redhead, I still need my arm” he hissed, making Lambert growl in response.  
"You little son of a-”

“Lambert” Vesemir called, stopping him “Let him go”  
That finally caught the boy's attention, and he shifted his gaze back to the man that was still sitting, apparently comfortably, on his chair. He pulled himself up a bit, a hand reaching for a drawer on his left.

“I think our friend would think twice before doing something stupid” Vesemir said, slowly extracting a gun to causally place it on the desk in front of him. Easy to see, easy to reach. A reminder, and a promise.

“One wrong move, boy, and you are dead” he stated, slowly leaning back.

Lambert hesitated, but in the end he let his hostage go, pushing him with enough force to make him fall on his knees with a thud that got only slightly muffled by the thick carpet on the floor.  
“Stand up and I fucking kill you” he barked, immediately joining Eskel in pointing his weapon at his head.

The boy, incredibly, was still smiling.

“So” Vesemir started after a moment of silence “What’s your name, boy? We are going to have a long conversation, so you might as well just tell me.”

He was speaking slowly, using a controlled tone, but in Geralt’s opinion it was precisely that kind of praticised composure that made him look scary as fuck.

Vesemir’s rage was not the shouting, screaming and beating kind of rage: it was cold and frightening, like the freezing sensation of the barrel of a gun pressed against your temple. And, perhaps, it was even more deadly. Like the northern sea before a storm, he might have looked calm, but beneath the surface Geralt knew that he was furious and that things were not going to be easy for the boy: no one messed with the Wolves without consequences.

After a moment, he nodded, passing his tongue on his dry lips before speaking.

“You may call me Jaskier, _sir_ ” he said, mockingly emphasizing the last world.

That made Eskel huff: he was not the kind of person who tolerated any lack of respect, especially not when it was directed towards his boss.  
“Enough” he said, stepping a bit closer “Behave, kid”

Jaskier looked amused: he smiled, shaking his head a bit.

“Oh I’m sorry” he said, looking nothing like it “Aw. Look at you! Such a cute, loyal, wolf pup, aren’t you? Barking and howling at this poor, injured birdie. Can’t your daddy handle me himself?”

That made Eskel’s face twist, rage making the scars on his face look a lot worse, but at a gesture from Vesemir he retreated obediently.  
“I’m gonna cut it short, Jaskier. You are in trouble, and trust me, you would not like it if you forced me to handle you myself. So, who do you work for?”  
Jaskier tilted his head slightly. With his blue eyes wide open he looked like a lost puppy. He waited just a moment before saying “No one”.

Lambert snorted.

“Bullshit” he said, pacing cautiously around the boy, nervously pointing at him with his gun “Tell us the truth, bastard”  
Vesemir sighed, pinching his nose before repeating the question.

Once again, Jaskier said “No one. I _was_ working for someone, but I’m afraid they don’t want me in the business anymore. Let’s call it a...conflict of interests” he said quietly. He had the nerve of looking rather bored, like he didn’t care if they believed him or not.

Geralt got up, slowly approaching the boy but also keeping carefully at distance.

“You said you were looking for me. Why?” he asked, observing him vigilantly.

Jaskier looked up at him, his pale and delicate face looking a bit sweaty probably for the loss of blood, which kept soaking his chemise.  
Nonetheless, he smiled.

“I wanted to meet you, as I said. You are like a legend, White Wolf. And I figured out that if I was about to die, at least I wanted to take a shot with you. Or from you, depending on how this little interview is going to end but-” he remarked, licking his lips again, Probably he was thirsty, Geralt thought. “You can also say I was just very curious in general. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, really.”

Geralt was a bit confused by the situation but if he was about to be completely honest, at least with himself, he was also…intrigued.

He couldn’t deny that Jaskier was good looking and he wanted to know why he bothered to create such a mess - killing two men at their club with the risk of being shot dead right on the spot - just to have the chance to meet him.

“What do you want from me, then?” he asked.

He was prepared for any answer: a job he wanted to be done, money he wanted to ask for, drugs - touse, to buy, to sell - having sex with him, even nothing if Jaskier was just the madman he seemed to be, but not for the one he actually got.

“Protection.”

The word slipped from his lips almost too easily, as if he had practised to say it in the most natural way, his tone similar to the one he would have used if he was asking someone to pass him the salt.

Geralt eyebrows raised in disbelief.

“What?” he said, shocked by the absurdity of his request.

He had imagined that Jaskier had killed two men for something, sure, but he couldn’t believe he was asking to be protected after what he had done.

Lambert made a mocking sound in response, stopping his pacing just to look at their hostage.

“Protection” Jaskier repeated simply, stressing the syllables as if he was talking to a slow-witted child.  
“Protection from whom?” Vesemir said, looking rather disconcerted and dubious about the boy’s answer. Geralt couldn’t blame him: even Eskel had lost his usual composure, and he was looking at Jaskier with his head slightly tilted to the side, gun still perfectly aiming to the back of his skull but his eyes slightly squinted, with a sparkle in them that Geralt knew well enough. He was intrigued by the unexpected turn of the events.

“From the Larks” Jaskier answered shortly, scrunching his nose when he pronounced the name, as if the word tasted sour on his tongue.  
Geralt choked back a sound: the boy was not a newbie if he was involved with such an organisation.

Everyone in their business knew that the Larks were just a step behind the Wolves and the Lions, and Geralt could already feel their foul breath on their necks as they ranked up through the mob hierarchies in town. They surely didn’t lack in financials or weapons. Neither they were short on skilled people who were able to use them, apparently. And they didn’t even lack in creativity, having heard of the little number they had pulled on that Valdo asshole.

He looked back at Eskel who was now coming a bit forward, taking a better look on the boy. Jaskier was now grinning: he turned his head towards him, the grin so wide on his face it looked like it was splitting in two.

“Are you surprised, pup?” he said, satisfaction and amusement filling his voice.

“What do the Larks want from you?” Vesemir asked, slowly rising from his chair.

Jaskier shrugged, even if the movement made his face flinch in pain. He decided to sit back on his heels, wiggling a bit, trying to ease the tension and the discomfort he was feeling because of the wound and the position his arms were forced into. Even if the pain was sharp and constant, he didn’t have any intention of showing weakness.

Geralt was honestly impressed: he knew men who looked tougher than Jaskier that at this point would have probably been crying in pain. But even so, Jaskier was clearly sweatier than he was before and he was turning paler, colour leaving his face making the red of his blood stand out even more.

Eskel seemed to notice too, and he decided to point it out.  
“Vesemir” he said carefully “Can I stop the blood? Otherwise, he will bleed out”.

Vesemir studied the boy knelt in front of him for a moment, then he nodded in agreement, giving Eskel permission to proceed.  
Eskel looked at Jaskier, who was still eyeing curiously at him, like a puppy studying a stranger who was approaching him. Probably he was surprised by his desire to help, but Geralt knew that was just basic Eskel being Eskel.

“Don’t do anything stupid” he warned, lowering his gun while Lambert approached, pressing the barrel of his weapon on Jaskier’s temple, strongly enough to make him tilt his head a bit more. Eskel put his own back in its holster, before kneeling slowly. He took the transparent and delicate hem of the boy’s shirt in his hand, testing it a bit before nodding to himself. With a sharp tug, he tore the fabric apart, making a bandage out of it. With skilled fingers, he loosened the restraints holding Jaskier arms, making him sigh in relief. Then, he quickly proceeded to wrap it around his shoulder, tightening it enough to stop the bleeding.  
He studied his work for a moment before nodding, getting up and stepping away.

“Thank you” Jaskier whispered, adjusting himself on his heels. He rotated his shoulder a bit, testing the bandage and easing the stiffness away.

“Good,” Vesemir said, circling his desk and stopping right in front of their hostage “So, Jaskier. Tell me. What do the Larks want from you?”

“My life? My head?” he answered, matter-of-factly “possibly in a box with a velvet ribbon on it, I guess”

“Why” Eskel asked, his usually calm and impenetrable face burning with barely concealed curiosity.

His amber eyes were shining for the sheer desire of _knowing_.

“Oh, come on!” Lambert interrupted, impatiently gesturing toward the boy “Have you all lost your mind?”  
“Lambert” Vesemir warned, but Lambert didn’t pay attention to him.

“He is lying. He’s clearly making all this shit up, because he probably is some fucked up kid who wanted to see the Wolves’ den” he rambled “And perhaps even to fuck Geralt because he has a fetish for white haired people or some shit like that. There is no why, Eskel. We should just put a bullet into his fucked up brain and throw his body in a river far from here. I’ll do it, it would be my pleasure to-”  
“Valdo” Jaskier said, interrupting him “Valdo Marx. He is the _why._ ”

Lambert fell silent, eyes so wide-open they looked like they were about to roll out of his skull.

“What” he said, moving to stand right in front of Jaskier, next to Vesemir “Say it again.”

His face was defiant but oh, Lambert was so ready to take up the challenge.  
  
“Valdo Marx” he repeated, calmly “I killed the fucker, and now the Larks want to kill me.”  
  
“But the Larks claimed the murder” Geralt decided to intervene, stepping forward “Didn’t they?”

The boy turned to face him, smiling, like he was happy because he had finally caught his attention.  
“They did claim it” Jaskier nodded, clearing his throat before speaking again. He looked sickly, but he went on speaking “But that was because they couldn’t let the others know a little bird escaped from their cage and made a fucking mess, could they? Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m happy I killed that jerk. I enjoyed every second of it and if I could I’d bring him back to life just to kill him again. But-” he said, making a wet pop with his lips, smacking them “-we needed him. It is a matter of fact. They had promised me I was going to be the one. His murderer, I mean. I had a…loose end with him. But they made me wait too long and I-”  
“You were a greedy little songbird” Vesemir finished for him “Digging without permission to get his maggot before mama bird took it out of the dirt for him.”

Jaskier looked at him, anger deforming his delicate face. The blue of his eyes looked almost black, the dark circles under them so deep they could have easily passed for bruises.

“I” he started again “Couldn’t stand the things that bastard was involved with, once I figured them out. Sure, I may be a criminal, a murderer- certainly I am not a saint. But I do not buy helpless young or even underage girls for my clients. That pig deserved what I did to him. It was not about me anymore. I couldn’t stand another minute sharing oxygen with that swine. I am _glad_ I fucking did it. Call me greedy, sir, if you want, but I. Could not. Wait. Not when I knew what was going on. Screw the Larks and the drugs. My stunt, however, ruined their business so...Point is, I can feel the wings of the other birdies flapping impatiently, waiting to catch me with their dirty little claws to bring me back to the nest, dead or alive. I need protection. And I need it from you” he panted.

Everyone fell silent for a while. Geralt exchanged a meaningful look with Eskel, but otherwise they didn’t move. Even Lambert, for once, said just “Shit” before shutting up, starting to pace again in the room, fidgeting with his gun for a while before pointing it again against Jaskier.  
“Why?” Geralt asked after a moment, eyebrows raised “Why us.”

“Because” Jaskier said, looking back to him “They are afraid, Wolf. Afraid of the Wolves, of course, but especially afraid of _you_ ” he clarified, pointing Geralt with his chin, locking eyes with him. Before Geralt had the chance of asking for a convincing explanation, he spoke again “The White Wolf. You’re our monster, our bogeyman. We can fight Cats, or even Lions, we have claws too and we are not afraid to use them. But you? You fucking terrorize the whole flock. Even the ones who do not want to admit it. This is why I was looking for you, why I wanted to meet you. You are a legend, as I said. Because we never forgot, we never let the memories fade. The old ones whisper stories to the baby birds, they teach them they should never be afraid of anybody…except of you. Every bird knows what you did, _butcher.”_

Geralt bared his teeth at the name, getting immediately and angrily closer to him. Jaskier didn't even flinch.

“Don’t call me like that” he said, balling his fists to his sides, feeling the familiar discomfort washing over him. He hated that nickname.

“Ok” Jaskier said simply, and he was about to add something when Vesemir interrupted him.

“So, let me get this straight: you killed someone you didn’t had to, and now the Larks are waiting to have your head on their table. Do not think I’d never seen something like this. Whether the reason is, you are not the first one. But what I’m really curious about is…if you are here seeking protection, why killing my boys to gain it? Why ending up in such a predicament that should require me to execute you for the insolence, boy?”  
Jaskier blinked, rapidly, eyes darting nervously around. Then, he looked up again, straight into Vesemir’s.

“Because I wanted to prove myself capable, sir” he said after a beat. This time the word didn’t sound like a mockery “To prove myself useful. Let me be clear : I’m looking for protection, I do not long for charity. I do not want you to tuck me in, kissing my forehead and giving me a binky before singing me a lullaby. I know how to kill, to spy…whatever. I can help. I do not want to hide in your house, I want a job. And this job will get me all the protection I need.”  
After that statement, an uneasy silence fell on the room.  
They all froze: Vesemir in front of his desk, Eskel on Jaskier’s left side, arms crossed. Lambert behind him, his gun still pointing to his head. Geralt on the right, his anger already dissipated. And in the middle of their strange compass there was Jaskier, kneeling on the carpet like a penitent waiting for his sentence.

“So” he said after a moment “What do you say, _sir_?”

-

“I can’t believe it. I can’t fucking _believe_ -”  
Lambert was ranting behind the closed door, voice high enough to be heard by everyone. He was _mad_.

That seemed to amuse Jaskier, who was quietly sitting on a table, clad only in the red streaks his own blood had painted on his chest.

Geralt was sewing up the gunshot wound on his shoulder, expertly and rapidly. Jaskier didn’t flinch, nor he did make a sound during the whole procedure.

“You are lucky” Geralt grunted “Lambert _does_ have a good aim”

Julian stretched his dry lips in a little, lazy smile. He was clearly tired, but despite the blood loss and a couple of bruises blooming on his skin where the restraint had kept his circulation from flowing, he seemed alright.

“Yeah” he said, his smile widening just slightly “He doesn’t sound happy to work with me, though...”

Geralt grunted again, finishing his work with the last stitch.  
“Can you blame him?” he asked, but the smallest hint of a smile was forming on his lips too.

They had talked for another hour and a half before deciding that Jaskier could work for and with them.  
Lambert was the only one who strongly opposed the agreement – Geralt could not blame him - but when Vesemir promised Jaskier he would personally and painfully kill him if he _suspected_ he was even _thinking_ of betraying them, he reluctantly agreed.

“Nah” Jaskier said, lowering his head to look at his now stitched up wound “You did a good job, thank you” he said softly.

“Stay still, I’m not finished yet” Geralt warned him, taking a clean bandage.

Being so close to Jaskier, he discretely took a chance to take a better look at him. He was indeed a good looking guy: thin but strong, arms and shoulders showing off a bit of muscles. Slender legs with shapely thighs, a proportionate and fit body. Even so, he looked quite delicate. Geralt knew he was not. He was a tad too pale now, but his skin was smooth and soft anyway. His blue eyes were tired, but also wide and curious while they embraced their surroundings and then Geralt.

He managed to look pretty, even covered in blood.

The Wolf didn’t know for sure if the little bluebird could be trusted, but something made him think he could. He was…intrigued by him. Jaskier looked so young, 25 years at most, and yet he was so fierce. He was indeed something.

Now, relaxed and sitting on the table, he looked like a baby who was waiting for his granny to take care of his scorched knee. So different from the feral boy knelt down in Vesemir’ office. And yet, behind those quiet eyes Geralt could see the coals simmer, the sparkle waiting to relight. Besides, he knew they were still attentive. He felt watched too, _seen_ _even_.  
  
Jaskier clearly needed to sleep, though: the dark circles under his eyes were purple and deep.  
  
Geralt wrapped the bandage on his shoulder, not too tight but also not too loose.

“Done” he said when he finished, taking a step back. He was satisfied by his work, he decided.

He looked at Jaskier, not knowing exactly what to think about him, but he trusted Vesemir, so…

“You need to take a shower” he pointed out, making Jaskier chuckle lightly. A pleasurable sound.

“I am aware” he said, slowly getting down from the table. He felt a bit unstable on his feet, but he managed not to fall.

“I’ll show you where you can stay” Geralt said. Jaskier nodded, humming quietly to remark he understood him.

A pleasant silence fell between them, a silence they did not feel the urge to fill in. Strangely, Geralt felt at ease with Jaskier, even if he was a stranger and he had been taught not to give his trust away so easily.  
  
Outside the door, finally there was quiet. Probably Eskel had managed to calm Lambert down and bring him to bed to rest. Bless him. Sometimes he was the only one who could talk some sense into him.

“Jaskier-” Geralt started, but the boy interrupted him with a light gesture of his hand.

“No” he said “Please. Jaskier was my lark name. It's not my real name, you know. And I feel like it doesn’t suit me anymore. I need a new one” he stated, one finger tapping delicately on his chin.  
Geralt crossed his arms, tilting his head a bit.  
“So… how should I call you?” he asked, waiting to see what the boy was going to pick as a new name. Jaskier stayed silent for a bit, pondering his options, before smiling.

“Julian. You can call me Julian” he claimed, happily “Do you like it? Julian. I find it good enough.”

Geralt nodded, approaching him to offer him his arm. He liked that name, it fitted him nicely. “Come, Julian. I’ll help you” he encouraged him.

Without hesitation, Julian took his arm, helping himself towards the door, following Geralt’s lead.

His fingers tightened gently around his forearm.

“I can’t wait to work with you” he whispered, excitement clear in his low voice.  
  
Geralt felt himself smiling.

“Me too Julian. Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, here we are Why I started this mobster au? I don't know. Do I wish to keep going? Hell yes.  
> Toss a commento to your writer, oh valley of ao3 - and let me know if I should write more about this idiots <3  
> Also, I got inspired by the wonderful "The Wolf and the Shrike" by Queen ForADay and I highly recommend to go and take a look to their marvelous fic!


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